


.animalism

by valvet



Category: Doom Patrol (Comics), Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Dysphoria, Body Horror, Desperation, Eye Gouging, Gen, Graphic Description, Loneliness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24800116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valvet/pseuds/valvet
Summary: hell isnt other people, its yourself. ie; how two vessels for powers out of their control became monsters
Relationships: Eric Morden/Cecil Hardwood
Kudos: 1





	1. SCENE I. hell

**Author's Note:**

> quarantine made me revamp my fucked up if true doom patrol character, anyways eric morden suffering is tomorrow so take lore and man being kin assigned a monstersona

**T** echnically, it wasn't the first time Cecil was alone, all throughout his life even before he had been forced into the role of a guardian of The Voided Space, he was without people. Nights spent behind low income apartment buildings, bricks forced up against his back as he’d watch the people who deemed themselves of normalcy walk by; they couldn't see him, but he always saw them. At least then it was loud, an obvious world of division between others, the good, the bad and the ugly.

Now, it was quiet, dark trees surrounded him within the world of darkness and a New England forest; the grass around him wet with morning dew and blood from his mouth. How long had it been since he got there? All Cecil remembered was being within his domain, the warm feeling of the void on him before without any movement on his regard, there he was. He had been here before many a time, all during different points though, the first time was when he first became the unlucky suitor to his domain; it smelled like a recently opened corpse, bugs about him, as a hand stuck out form the ground; it bent within the wind and Cecil remembered (or perhaps made up) it reaching out at him, however, instead he stayed within the woods. Over time, the times that he came back it slowly became not a field of awful smells, but instead flowered, albeit with horrid blood red flowers and tendrils of the inky void wrapped about the grass, but it was better than a presumed corpse of the original owner. 

Speaking of blood, he was quite bloody when he thought about it, finally looking down upon his damned body; naked but without any genitals or any shows of human biology; blood had begun to pool within his mouth; albeit he couldn't feel it, it covered the entirety of his chest and leaked down his legs; pooling around him, dark and violent. The only thing he could feel was his teeth, they ached, but not from pain, hunger; they clawed at the insides of his mouth for more skin to devour, more blood to be covered across his body. Cecil knew the void was calling to him, it wanted to be given a vessel and to be free from the skin he put on for others. However, he wouldn't give in that easily, he could still try to keep it at bay, perhaps this was a test of his own strength. Cecil sat himself in his own blood, it wasn't sticky though like most was from others, it felt like nothing actually, was he really bleeding? He reached to his mouth, adjusting two fingers to enter his maw, and when he went in, all he felt was teeth, no flow in between the lips; just violent edges and spiral engravings in them; his brain finally for a moment caught up with him; and he shrieked, pulling his hand back to reveal that his hand was covered in the blood--no, not blood, blood isn't black; albeit when dried its dark, but not like a squid’s ink. It sank into his sin, forcing it open, but no pain, it just occurred right before him, tearing open and squirming into him, from which more began to spurt out.

It moved throughout his body, and all he could do was watch, even when he closed his eyes he could see it, the moving worm beneath his skin, forcing the ink to bleed onto him again and again, spreading the illness even more. He forced his eyes shut, it didn't nothing but seeing it, beholding it with them made it so much worse, his stomach moved about uncomfortably, and at that, he felt a banging at it, claws grasping at the lining of his belly, its fingers forced its way out, ripping apart his horrifically shadowy skin--no not skin, gore, muscles turned onto the outside of his flesh as he “saw” a maw escape from his stomach more ink gurgling from it. 

Then, he felt his mouth begin to ache again, and pains seared through his lips; he didn't shriek though, the voice completely left him as it tore through his cheeks, teeth in its place, tongue lolling out, if it really was even a tongue anymore. Why must the only pain he felt had to be one for such a sensitive part of his body, he forced his face into the ink on the grass, pain shot right through him once he hit the ground, but at that point he couldn't even move, his body twitched about; back viciously moving about, slamming his face repeatedly into the ground as his voice came back for a moment, loudly screaming as pain overtook him; white, vicious pain of only a man on the brink of death could feel, but yet, Cecil knew death would never take him, even if he begged for it through a shaky voice and blood filled mouth. 

A crack came from his back, and the twitching stopped, his face finally laid still on the grass; it smelt like potent alcohol and bleach, then his voice left him once again, the pain moved from his maw finally, not even a mouth of a man, and instead to his back; from which he could feel it leak, bones of his old spine forcing itself out as the flesh around it stretched, forcing tendrils out through his electric body; the pain was more like when you stretched your mouth uncomfortably wide, Cecil wanted that damn white pain back ,a t least he could lose himself to it; it methodically stretched out, feeling returning to his back as he felt every inch of the surroundings; out of the corner of his now tear filled eyes he could see a tendril wrap around a tree, forcing him to stay sturdy.

Then, it stopped; all the pain melted right through him, albeit he still didn't move for a moment. When people say hell is other people, they forget the fact that it also can be yourself who is your own living hell, the body forcing the pain onto you instead of others slitting you with the butcher knife. 

His legs didn't feel right though, and when he tried to move them all he felt was a massive amount of flesh moving about; however, Cecil would not take not applicable for an answer; he forced his back open as more tendrils wrapped around the trees, helping him up from the ground to reveal nothing but massive amounts of voided area, black as his own domain, all of him was; he had become it, and so did it become him.


	2. SCENE II. heaven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eric morden manic depression powerhour; or eric morden ceases being a person and instead a concept.

**E** ven within The White Space, Eric Morden still felt awful, it wasn't an obvious feeling; it could be more out of sheer isolation than anything else, a jerk reaction for plot contrivances, but it was there. It dragged across his thoughts constantly, even within his maniac states of being known, he felt like nothing more than a vessel for his entity. Which technically, he was, that's what the lore was after all, Eric Morden and any person who was chosen just fulfilled the actions of their domain, but that didn't mean it didn't feel awful to do so. 

Oh who was he to kid, he felt awful about it always; sure, it was nice to be somebody (a man with a face), he still didn't have one; it was Eric Morden, not of the man he desired to be; no mirrors were allowed within his own domain, and when he’d go past them while doing his usual chaos giving; he’d for a moment have to see himself, face pale and wrong. 

Of course, plot demands him to be in front of his own body; that's what the writer wants and that's what he’ll get.

He didn't like to be outside of the White Space that often, albeit the search for Niles Caulder was still ongoing, Eric preferred (needed) to be in a place of comfort, but the duty calls; the blinding light burns through his eyes and it morphs into him, twisting his form until he’d end up where he must cause terror. Eric never knows exactly where he’ll end up for a job, usually it's a crowded area from which nobody can behold him (which he hates), his domain telling him to let lose whatever he feels like, no strict put through rules of exactly what to do; instead to hell with that, the monkeys in the zoo are loose! The people get mauled to death and their faces unable to be recognized, asides from the face the apes are wearing them are their faces. 

Instead, he was alone, and all he could see was fields upon fields of grass, the sky a light blue of what his veins looked like when angered, flowers were scarce, but there. No voice came from his head, his entity said nothing of a ploy at all for chaos, instead, he was alone, no birds or breeze, flat heat and even flatter terrain. 

By God did he hate it, Eric looked about for a while, attempting to find something that could represent people, that's what he was made to do within this stupid job of his, wasn't it? To create unfathomable madness? Whistle his lover made situations of knowable depravity? That's what it was! But then why have him here? Was he supposed to make his own damn people to make fun of? Or was his own author incompetent and wanted him to suffer? 

A breeze then came by, north facing, it went right through his head and out his mouth; once he blinked the field was gone, and instead replaced by the sea, a small coastline was surrounded him, by the edge of the water he stood, the water more like small mirrors than anything else, church glass if you will. 

His skin crawled with disgust at his own flesh, his eyes always looked so pathetic, even when he tried to look like a different man, he knew still behind the facial expressions he pulled from a Jim Carrey bag, Eric Morden was Eric Morden; he pushed his heel into the sand, and reached his bony hand to his face; nails pressing against his flesh. If he was a more self destructive man, he would've cut off his face already. At least the glass distorted his face, but not enough.

Then, the glass came up to his feet, swelling into the shore; Eric didn't move though, instead he let it cut through his legs; the stained glass didn't go back through to reveal his pants as bloodied, instead it stayed, forcing him to look at himself even more. At that he dug his finger into the side of his face, it burned like hell for a moment; unlike he felt it peel off.

How great, a body horror experience, no really, how peachy. 

Eric saw his skin fall to the glass, and when he reached inside of the open hole; his brain went into a frenzy, scrambling about as he felt like all those times he made a man into a pinata; full undecided control of another. Christ almighty, mania immediately ran through his blood like the sweetest liquor, the pain would be worth it in the end he supposed. Eric, with full force began to dig into his face; it bled, by god did it bleed; he still had a human form after all, and skin did not easily fall off. He pressed his whole hand into his cheek, and with a good tug it came off; euphoria and searing pain came through his body; the tear had not been perfect considering from what he could see from the distorted view of the glass, he had gained a sliver of skin removed (not the muscles though, which were the ones that revealed the goods) that went right through the begin of his nose; blood began to produce from the now revealed veins. Blood ran down his “face, and he groaned; before letting both of his hands at himself, of course it hurt, and yes, did he scream; he shrieked from the agony he was in, just like that damn Nazi experiment all over again, each piece of his body coming undone from his own hand. When he felt his eyes--no, Eric Morden’s eyes; he let his thumb’s nail press into it, before violently tearing it from his head; but yet, he still could see. He himself let it happen, it was his damn body after all. 

When he looked down back upon his face, it had dissipated from that familiar face of that cowardly man known as Eric Morden (albeit he’d always be him, but tell naught the man in his own mania). Instead a canvas for his own liking; but it wasn't enough, his body was still of him; at that; he looked down into the glass; it could penetrate skin quite well, if Eric moved about enough then it would be quite easy to be free of his own bindings. 

Thus he did, not his best idea, if he was to be honest; but what was he meant to do? Get naked? He could excuse self mutilation, but nudity is where he drew the line. 

Eric’s body crashed right into the glass, breaking it beneath his weight; he went in belly first; the shards tore right through his clothes and pierced his chest; right, he still felt pain.

His shrieks made up the beach now, once quiet and now filled with his writhing against the glass tearing him open; Eric felt his guts fall out into the stained glass, burnishing it's horrible blood onto it permanently, white pain surrounded his nerves as he begged for release; for it to be done with. But it wouldn't, even when he sank to the depths of ten feet under the glass, parts of him were still filleted; not enough.

At that, he forced his body up from the glass, the giant spear of bloodied glass was still stuck into his chest, Eric’s body shook with agony, attempting to hold back his own blubbering and tears, he pushed it away; ribs breaking against his harsh movements, and with a wet noise, he was free. 

Eric forced his rib cage back open; and his insides were wrecked in a blinding light of whiteness, to the parts that weren't already turned into what he desired; they were bloodied, and muscles pulsing in agony; he laughed; and pressed his nail to one of the still leftover pieces of his old self, and ripped it right from himself without a flinch of his hand. 

Before long, after methodical picking and prodigy at the leftover bits; he himself, Eric Morden, was only but the idea of a man, not any person, but every person. He himself was every somebody and nobody to be; body distorted, body parts of others and nonexistent people; a collage of a man, albeit he kept parts of his original face (he always liked the way his cheekbones functioned), but he himself was to never be Eric Morden again.

He was now his own desire, his own somebody.


	3. SCENE III.purgatory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gay bitches finally kiss again

By all means, eventually Cecil had to be back to which he came; it had taken many hours; the sun setting before within a blink of an eye; he was in the shaded emptiness of The Vast; grays surrounded him and his new form of misery; and in the distance, he could see the domain’s own, Shuavel looked more depressed than usual by the sight of their face. They turned to Cecil, and shook their head; even from that far away, their voice sounded like they were right next to him.

“You’ve shed your skin as well” They stated, Cecil tilted his head; more of a beast than a man he was; teeth snarling slightly; had Eric as well become a monster of his own domain? Thank god, at least then he could return the insult of whatever he’d say.

“Has Eric as well uh..y'know” Cecil gestured down to his “body” as best as he could, Shuavel shrugged.

“Not like that, but yes; you are the depressive and he is the ego; different results but the same reasons' ' Cryptic bullshit, great. Cecil moved about, tendrils swigging about as he walked past Shuavel, who had a stone cold face before crossing their legs.

“You’ve been gone for three months, to note.” Cecil felt his guts (yes, multiple, he was a monster not a man after all) churn and he furrowed his eyelids, neck craning and cracking as it stretched out to be closer to the vessel of this horrible domain of in between hatred. 

“Three? What type of time bullshit is going on here? It was hours, not months you piece of shit” He snarled, blood replacing his saliva; Shuavel however, didn't react; they never did.

“When the domain demands change, time acts differently; I do not understand it but that is how it works” Cecil rolled his eyes and let his neck go back into place, when he saw a blinding door opening; The White Space, he presumed. 

Eric.

Him, his destiny given enemy of his domain and lover. 

Cecil felt his mouth salivate at the thought of him, hearts beating in unison as his body moved about; wiggling in happiness. He loved him, he adored him! Had it been that long since he had affection? Without any instruction from Shuavel, he went right towards the door; to feel his skin again, to inhale him and fight against his nonsense while they kissed is all he wanted now, the pain of cracking bones replaced with ideas of ways to love. 

Once he entered however, the familiar setting of blank whiteness was different, still the same color, but instead, sat Eric Morden (perhaps he wasn't?), half man, half monster; parts of his face open, split and filled with glowing spirals; his face pale white, but tinted in some color he couldn't put his finger on. He himself was difficult to even comprehend. 

How fitting. 

Before Cecil could even attempt to understand what could lead him to such a body that suited him that well, he was sat now on a comfortable loveseat, body stretched across it; the colors seemingly changing every time he looked away from it. Eric’s face looked happier than he had been since he was a goon for The Brotherhood.

“It seems you’ve gone through a metamorphosis as well” He hummed, taking a drink from his cut in half mug, the coffee however, never spilled. Cecil laughed, it was raw and felt like sin.

“I have, felt like i was going to die though, but now i'm a giant monster so that's a plus one” The fact Eric laughed, a genuine look of contempt on that usually miserable face was hard to even understand; every time he talked or even breathed, he sounded like he was many feet away, but also close in his ear. 

“Not a monster, dear, a horror. Monster implies a human nature to it; we are in fact, just horrifying to look at” Cecil shuffled himself around a bit, god he wanted to kiss him already.

“No need to get poetic, is that what they gave you when you got a cool transformation? Ability to say words right?” Cecil asked with a smile that definitely looked like one of hunger. 

“Perhaps, the author of this gave me a nice resolution to my body issues though--but that isn't the point is it?” He was now in front of him, even his body, not even his face was hard to understand, his skin close up looked like it had jagged edges and spirals in it. Eric’s hands felt like everything at once, they gently placed themselves to Cecil’s “face”.

“The point is, I’ve missed you, and if you don’t let me kiss you right now I will have to destroy your little domain for good” Cecil didn't ever hesitant, he grabbed him by the face with his tendrils, forcing himself up, desperation in both of their movements as Eric grasped him by the hair, holding him like his life depended on it. Probably did, Cecil couldn't help but let his teeth graze against him, not that Eric seemed to mind as he continued at it. 

Once Eric pulled away, he went directly back in, specifically to Cecil’s horrible maw that was now appearing once again, up against his cheeks and quickly turned into all over any patch of skin that wasn't covered in teeth and horror. At least now when they kissed, when they loved, they could truly be the people they were beneath, a collage of a man and a horrifying beast of teeth and blood. 


End file.
